Prologue
A life as a tasting menu of adventure: architect, dreamer, artist of glass-mosaics, musician, writer and photographer—a career lived as both maker and storyteller. A globetrotter through the Kalahari Desert, the jungles of Sumatra, Java and Borneo; a hunter of vanished volcanoes and “lost” cities and hominids that may never have existed; a guest among Bangladesh’s river nomads (the Bede) and the Tripura, the Baduy and Orang Rimba in Indonesia, and the Ju/’Hoansi-San and other Kalahari peoples. He nurtures an odd fascination with landfills and funerals. A Krobo chief once named him Nene David I; he has worked in Bangladesh’s ship-breaking yards and in Angola during the civil war. He invents and builds—founding a gallery; floating the ideas Architects Without Borders and High IQ for Humanity; creating The Adventurers Society. He is a member of the International Society for Philosophical Enquiry (ISPE) and—one of the very few Danes—of the Los Angeles Adventurers Club.
Prologue
When you look back along the road you’ve just walked, Saint Peter—curious as ever—will want a debrief. What did you make of your journey? What did you experience? Were you curious? How much did you dare? Who did you meet, what did you say—was it dull or was it an adventure? Did you add something to the world, or sit back and let others do it? That’s why it helps to pin down a few waypoints—or, as I’ve done here, entertain yourself by writing a report you can lean on.
Everyone should try this exercise: to see life as a whole and reflect on the small details that give the whole its meaning—and, with luck, to leave something engaging for the next generations, maybe even a spark of inspiration.
So here’s my backward glance: childhood dreams and nightmares intertwined with early years in the USA, in Norway, and in Ringsted. Later, a whirlwind of adventures—Angola, Greece, Germany, South Africa, the United States, and Bangladesh. I’ve visited the poorest and the most remote, the ultra-modern and the fiercely traditional. I’ve gone into caves, jungles, volcanoes, big cities, and deserts; stood atop skyscrapers and inside places few ever see. You’ll hear about the funerals I attended, the landfills I walked, and the unusual factories and laboratories—those odd corners not usually counted as “adventure.” You’ll also step into my art world, where fragility and force live side by side: paintings, stained-glass mosaics, scrimshaw, music, and words. All of it is part of the adventure that made me—the story you (and Saint Peter) will hear.
As Dylan once asked, “Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?” The old refrain still echoes: misty mountains, crooked roads, dark forests, dead oceans—and the sense that a hard rain may be coming.
I’ve reached the moment to take stock—to file the report on what it has meant to be David. And yes, we can all feel it: the sky is loading for a cloudburst.